Entropy and the Invisible Man
by Timemidae
Summary: While working for Barty Crouch Sr., Percy meets Barty Jr. Percy, the model of ordered stuffyness, finds himself mysteriously drawn to Barty's chaotic insanity. However, as the two grow closer together, Barty continues to fall apart
1. Chapter 1

Hello whoever is out there! I have two things to confess; firstly, I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the books, I do not own the movies, I do not own any of the characters unless we are going by The Little Prince's definition of ownership, by which if you really love something and it loves you back, it becomes yours. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, read The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. It is in the running for the most beautiful thing ever written) Second thing to confess: I wrote this fic almost purely because I wanted to have nice mental images of David Tennant and Percy Weasley snogging.

**Chapter One**

Percy looked out over his brand new desk, puffed to bursting with pride. All his quills were there, neatly arranged and sharpened. He had an IN box and an OUT box, for the time being both empty, but soon, he thought, to be filled with neatly stacked documents of vital importance. And, last but not least, he had a shiny metal name plate that read Percival I. Weasley: Department of International Magical Cooperation. Percy took out his clean, freshly-pressed handkerchief and lovingly rubbed invisible dust from the placard.

"Weatherby!" there came a shout from the next room. Percy leapt to his feet, smoothed his robes, and walked in.

"Yes sir, good morning sir, what can I do for you sir?" he asked, admiration gleaming on his face.

The man with the toothbrush mustache stared at him coldly. "Make me fifteen copies of this" Crouch sent a stack of papers into Percy's arms with a flick of his wand.

"Oh" mumbled Percy.

Mister Crouch dismissed him, "That will be all Weatherby".

Percy went back to his desk and set the charmed quill working, specifying the parameters of the task and providing it with parchment that had been stamped with the Ministry of Magic letterhead. Then he went to get himself a cup of tea. He noticed an empty tea-cup left out on the table, dregs of tea were still left at the bottom. Percy thought this a little odd, because Mr. Crouch was such a neat and proper individual, but he tidied away the cup and forgot about it almost immediately.

Percy had been in the office for almost forty-eight hours now; he simply couldn't leave with so much to do! Mr. Crouch might need him, there might be Ministry matters of extreme import, anything could occur. Percy tried to maintain his eager, helpful energy.

Still, it was very late and despite all his efforts to remain focused on his very important work, Percy Weasley was beginning to lose his battle against sleep. He was dozing over a stack of memos when he was half awakened by voices in the next room.

He could barely make out any of the words spoken, just a few here and there. Mr. Crouch's voice was crisp and dignified, even at a hissed whisper as it was now. Percy heard the word "disgrace", then a low, whimpering response. The conversation grew unintelligible, but seemed to rise in intensity. Percy shifted and sank deeper into his doze. _Bang! _"Enough" shouted Mr. Crouch, slamming something down onto his desk.

Percy jolted awake and leapt out of his chair. "Is everything all right sir? Do you need anything sir?" Crouch, always so in control of himself, looked exhausted and upset. His voice was almost a groan when he said "Go home, Weatherby."

Ok, so I hoped you enjoyed that. I know there wasn't much excitement, but I have to give Percy a bit of time to figure stuff out, put the pieces together etc. I have an outline for this story, so it may end up actually being updated (yay). Please review, you will have my undying appreciation and thanks.

Also, a BIG thanks to Laura for the edits


	2. Chapter 2

Hi out there! First off, HUGE thanks to Tondayala Cherise Dupre, Danielle, and BlueNutrino for your reviews; I want to hug you all. Hug yourselves for me, okay? TCD, I'm really sorry, I tried to make this longer; I included the whole first bit about the flat even though I wasn't sure if it belonged in this section just to make it longer, but I still ended up with an itty-bitty chapter. Secondly, here is the second installment. There still isn't much action per say, but we're working up to it.

Percy did not like going home. Home was chaotic and noisy. All of the Weasley children were home for the summer, filling the house with their laughter, their antics, with their very beings. Fred and George would be up to their usual shenanigans, blowing things up and banging thing about and generally disturbing the peace.

What Percy needed, he decided, was his own flat, just a little one, the least expensive he could find. He wasn't picky. He didn't care about its location; he could apparate from anywhere. Moving out of the Burrow was in no way a matter of convenience, it was a matter of sanity. Percy needed somewhere quiet and tidy and not swarming with hooligan brothers. He wanted a place of his own on which to impose his own small order. To be perfectly frank, he wasn't planning on actually spending much time in his hypothetical flat; he was sure he would be far too busy at work.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ...

He reached up into the air and pulled down a paper airplane memo, or at least he tried to, the ridiculous thing dove off in another direction, making fancy, corkscrewing turns. It loop-de-looped around the office and zipped out the door. Percy pursued; he had never known a memo to behave this way. Maybe it had been redacted?

Percy had chased the memo all the way down three corridors, up a flight of stairs, past the experimental charms office (always a dangerous hall to be walking by), and into an empty boardroom when it suddenly dropped and lay limp on the floor. Percy nervously approached it, on hand fingering his wand. He bent to pick it up but suddenly leapt up and whirled around, wand brandished. Something had pinched his butt, he was sure of it, but there was no one else in the room.

Percy gingerly picked up the memo and brought it back to his office, smoothing as he went. Mr. Crouch demanded that all memos be unfolded from "that silly, childish shape" before they reached his desk. He was a man who detested whimsy.

Later, when he thought about the incidents in the board room, Percy could have sworn he heard odd, smothered laughter as he turned to go.

So there you have it, a really tiny baby chaperlet. I've been really busy and I wasn't sure when I would find the time to actually finish it, so I though a chapterlet now was preferable to a proper chapter that never actually gets written. Please review, your thoughts really mean a lot to me.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi! I'm experimenting with putting author's notes in italics, so here we are. This chapter will also be extremely short, and for that I apologize. Good news though, I recently did NanoWriMo for the first time, and it got me in the habit of writing a little everyday, so this should be being updated a bit more frequently. Warmest thanks to BlueNeutrino, Danielle, and Tondayala Cherise Dupre for all of your support, you are lovely people, really you're the best people ever and you make me so happy. _

_Also, I don't own anything_

When Percy returned home that Friday, his mother enveloped him in a big, wooly hug, which he endured, and handed him a piece of parchment. "An owl came for you about an hour ago dear, it's from that girl, Penelope."

One of the twins was seated at the kitchen table, Percy thought it was Fred, but to perfectly honest he couldn't be absolutely positive; he'd spent much of the past sixteen years ignoring the twins to the greatest extend possible. "Oooh", exclaimed the twin, (Fred, it was Fred, Percy was sure now.) "Percy's got a letter from his girlfriend. Tell me Perce, what does she see in you?" George joined his counterpart, stepping gin from the living room and critically surveying Percy. After looking Percy up and down, George turned to his twin, "I dunno Fred, maybe she fancies stuck up gits?"

Percy stomped up the Burrow's many rickety flights of stairs to his room, where he could read his correspondences in some degree of privacy and peace. As soon as he opened the letter, Penelope's clear, crisply accented voice floated out through the room, "Dear Percy, Would you do me the honor of taking me to dinner tonight, say Arabella's at eight thirty? Remember to dress well. Warm Regards, Penelope"

Percy glanced at his watch, the one he had received just a few years ago, as a gift when he came of age; it was already eight o'clock. Percy hurriedly changed into his dress robes (the good ones that he'd bought with his very first ministry paycheck, not the frayed, secondhand ones he kept in the back of the closet), only to realize that the restaurant she'd mentioned, Arabella's, was a muggle establishment. He supposed he should have known that; all the best London eateries were. Percy had a vague idea that this was because the chefs in muggle restaurants actually cooked, rather than put some things in a pot and entrust a few handy charms with making sure everything turned out alright.

Percy arrived at the restaurant a mere fifteen minutes after receiving Penelope's letter, having apparated into an empty car park down the block. He was wearing an inconspicuous grey suit.

Arabella's was a nice place, with decor almost perfectly suited to Percy's rather austere tastes. There were two overlapping cloths on each table, one white and one grey, dark wine bottles gleamed gently in polished wood racks along the walls, and all the waiters wore formalwear and were impeccably polite. The whole place had a clean, uncluttered elegance that appealed to Percy. He sighed, if only he could afford to frequent places like these regularly.

He found Penelope perched stiffly on one of the modular black couches built into the wall behind the maitre d's station, where patrons could sit in comfort and maybe enjoy a drink while they waited for their table to open. She rose to greet him, giving him a swift peck, which he returned. Percy studied her as they were led to their table, there were very few outward signs that she was at all pleased to see him, but then again, Penelope's face rarely moved at the best of times. Percy wasn't sure if this was a lasting effect of her having been petrified during their seventh year at school, or if it was just Penelope being Penelope.

The waiter unobtrusively slipped a sleek, leather bound menu on to the table just next to Percy's elbow. He opened it, mentally converted the prices from pounds to galleons and back to pounds all in just for a few moments, and broke into a cold sweat.

"Are you keeping well?" asked Penelope politely. "Yes, very, and yourself?" He responded automatically, it seemed to him eighty percent of what he said with Penelope (never Penny!) was said automatically. Maybe that was a mark of a good relationship? Getting along so well that you needn't ever come up with new things to say?

"Oh, Yes, I'm doing very well." said Penelope "and how is your family keeping?" Percy sighed inwardly; he did not want to talk about his family now. "They're fine." He replied firmly and quickly changed the subject, "How's work going? How are things going in the advertising business these days?" "Oh I'm so glad you asked!", a new light seemed to come into Penelope's eyes, "The firm got a contract to advertise at the World Cup" "Wow, that's great!" Percy smiled and let her talk for a while, "Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover, I was thinking of the slogan 'No Discomfort, No Discoloration'…"

Percy smiled and told her he thought it was a wonderful slogan. Although he privately thought it made the cleaning fluid sound like a treatment for some extremely unpleasant medical condition.

When their food arrived (Percy had ordered three cheese ravioli, the least expensive thing he could find on the menu's narrow sheets of smooth, artisan paper.), the couple ate in silence. Thank heavens Penelope was one of those liberated women who paid for their own dinners, Percy had never thought of himself as a supporter of the feminist cause until he began taking women out to eat. They left the restaurant by about nine-thirty, neither of tem having wanted dessert or postprandial drinks (or, Percy suspected, anymore of each other's company.)

They walked together to a safe place for apparation. Penelope hesitated for a moment, standing in the abandoned parking lot, then she cleared her throat for a minute, "So, do you want to come back home with me for just a bit. I could show you around my new flat."

"No thank you Penelope, I have to work early tomorrow morning." Penelope tried to glare and shouted after him as he disapperated, "You always have to work in the morning! It's Friday night! No one has to go in early on Saturday!"

_Postscript: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I really liked putting poor Percy in an empty, loveless relationship, don't worry though, that will change before too long. Please review, reviews are pretty much the best Chanukah present I could ever ask for._

_Also, Penelope's slogan was (to everyone's relief) changed to the current slogan of 'No Pain, No Stain"_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hi, I'm sorry it's been so long. This chapter has been in my head for weeks, but somehow I only just got around to writing it down. Plus, I'm trying out this radical new thing called proofreading ;) so it may take me a little longer to get chapters out after I write them. Anyway, Enjoy _

_Corrections: In the last chapter I said that Penelope was petrified in Percy's 7th year; it was actually in his sixth. I don't know if anyone picked up on that, but I felt guilty as a Harry Potter nerd for leaving it uncorrected. _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Some dialogue has been directly lifted from JKR's Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire._

Percy struggled down the stairs of the Burrow. He felt horrendous, like his head weighed fifty pounds and his throat was filled with sand, but he knew he must go to work. Mr. Crouch needed him! Who would make the copies? And fix the tea? And keep the appointments registry?

He wandered blearily into the kitchen and took a piece of toast, ignoring how uncomfortable the rough crust felt scratching down his throat. Percy took a pinch of Floo Powder and prepared for departure.

A strong hand burst through the wall of green flames and grabbed hold of Percy's collar. He was momentarily choked in the struggle between the arm and the forces of Floo transport. Molly Weasley won, of course.

Percy was hauled bodily out of the fireplace, despite his gasped protests, "Mum! I've got to go work. If you could please just leave me alone."

"Nonsense dear," Molly put a hand to her son's forehead, standing on her tiptoes and reaching out far to do so as she was a rather short witch and he a rather tall young man, "you're running a fever. Now go back upstairs to bed like my good little boy. I'm sure your Mr. Crouch won't mind if you're out for a day."

"Mum, I'm of age and I'm perfectly capable of gauging my own physical wellness." Molly Weasley won, of course.

It was actually a whole three days before Percy could escape from his mother's ministrations. He walked briskly into his office, certain his ears were steaming from all the pepper-up potion he'd been forced to swallow.

He noted with a kind of smug satisfaction that his inbox was quite full, nearly to overflowing. On his desk was a small scrap of parchment, affixed to the wood with a weak temporary sticking charm. Percy supposed it was the equivalent of those muggle 'Post-It-Notes' his father was so enchanted with.

The note read _I've missed you, BC. _Oh, how nice, thought Percy. He'd known he would be needed at work. He supposed he should go greet Mr. Crouch and put his employer's mind at ease.

"Morning sir, I'm back," said Percy brightly.

"Back? Where have you been?" Crouch did not even glance up from his work. "Well sir, I've been ill since Tuesday sir." "Really, I hadn't noticed. Anyways, I'm holding a conference with the Polish ambassador next week and I need to release a statement on the Legowski case before then. I need to review the precedents before moving forward. Fetch some of my older comments for me. They're in the archives filed under February 21, 1982. "Right sir," Percy made a mental note of the date.

"Um… sir, not to press the issue, but are you quite sure you didn't notice I was out. I believe you left me a note."

When Mr. Crouch finally looked up from his papers, he was scowling and his eyes glinted cold, "I did no such thing."

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Percy rushed down to the ministry archives, trying to get as far away from his boss as he could before let his wounded pride show. He slaved all day for Mr. Crouch and he still didn't even realize when he was gone. Just when you think what you do is important, it turns out no one even cares. Now now, he thought to himself. Mr. Crouch is a very important man. Someone so busy and so important doesn't have time to worry about his subordinates. He probably had far more significant things on his mind. It was foolish of him to even think that Mr. Crouch would bother to be concerned about him.

Still, Percy was in a state of slight agitation when he reached the records department. He presented his ministry ID to the clerk on duty, a small, wispy old wizard with thick glasses and a bald, mottled scalp, and entered the Hall of Memories.

The walls were lined with shelves and shelves of clear glass vials. Their not quite gaseous contents swirled and flowed in the dim light. At the end of each row of shelving was a medium high stand with a smooth, shallow bowl placed on it. Percy walked down the aisles, perusing the neatly labeled memories. They were all here, inquests and hearings and trials and meetings and assemblies from the earliest days of the ministry up until the present, the memories of Prime Ministers and Chief Warlocks of the Wizengamot and court clerks and even lowly little assistants like him. He found the right year and peered more closely at the vials, looking for the specific date.

He pulled one off the shelf, February 21, 1982: Testimony: Bartemius Crouch. This looked right. He strode to the Pensieve and carefully poured the contents of the vial into the basin, watching as the grey ripples slowly transformed into a scene. He set a piece of parchment down next to the Pensieve, preparing to take notes, and descended into the memory.

Percy surveyed his surroundings, something was definitely wrong. For one, they were in the Wizengamot's dungeon court, an ancient, chilly, and generally unpleasant place, rather than the cushy, oak paneled boardrooms they met in for everyday affairs. For another, the people in attendance looked drawn, pale and upset. Someone was sobbing, a dry, gasping sound that echoed through the cold stone room. Mr. Crouch was there, but he was sitting in the dais, passing judgment, not giving testimony.

Six dementors glided into the room. Percy suppressed a shiver; this was not the discussion of Polish-Anglo import/export laws he had been looking for. His thoughts were confirmed when the convicts were brought in, four of them, three men and a woman. One of the men caught Percy's attention, he was very young, about the age Percy was now, and he looked absolutely terrified, pale and shaking. He had freckles and hair the color of straw that fell over eyes that were wide with fear.

Mr. Crouch rose and began to speak; Percy had never seen his employer look so furious. It made him quake inside just to watch the memory of Crouch's anger. "You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous—" The scared looking young man interrupted Mr. Crouch, a bold and probably unwise move. Percy could see the desperation on his face, "Father," he said, "Father…please"

Percy yanked his head up out of the pensieve. He should not be watching this; he should not have seen that. He wished he had not seen that. He took a deep breath and glanced down at the empty vial in his hand, squinting at a smudge that he earlier had thought to be insignificant. The label did not read Testimony: Bartemius Crouch; it read Testimony: Bartemius Crouch Jr.

Percy siphoned the hideous memory back into its vial and pushed the stopper in, wanting to bottle the thing, to contain it, to hide it away once more. He replaced it on the shelf, innocuous amongst its fellows. He then found the actual memory he had been sent for and watched it without really paying attention to the issues of the discussion. Instead, he spent the whole time watching Mr. Crouch's face. He looked tired, exhausted even, but other than that nothing appeared to be wrong; he was actively engaged in the conversation, his controlled expression never once slipping.

As he returned to his office he heard voices from within, angry voices, but not raised voices, voices that were trying as hard as they could to be quiet, but were not being overly successful. "What is the meaning of this, this 'note'?" hissed Mr. Crouch. "It's nothing," said another voice, "just a bit of fun." "Fun?" said Mr. Crouch, "Fun? I didn't get you out of Azkaban for you to have 'fun' with the office boys."

Percy had unconsciously halted just outside the door and listened. Now, he turned and ran; he needed to see the rest of the memory.

He felt foolish and self-conscious, bolting through the dignified ministry offices as fast as his long legs could carry him, but he had a strange feeling of being on the brink of something. The aged clerk shot Percy an unpleasant look as he rushed by, muttering breathless apologies. "Where's the fire, lad? " he asked gruffly.

Percy tilted the memory into the Pensieve with trembling fingers, took a deep breath, and watched it all the way through. "Take them away! Take them away and may they rot there!" roared Mr. Crouch. His son continued to plead with him as the dementors pulled him away, "Father! Father, I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!"

Percy leaned against the pensieve's stand, breathing heavily. He had not earned twelve OWLs by not being unusually intelligent; Percy understood now, at least he was fairly certain he did. And to think he'd thought his family was difficult to live with.

_Ok, so after all the clues and all the build up, Percy finally is in the know. I hope it's not anti-climactic or anything. Now the real fun can start! I'm excited; who's excited? If you are (or aren't, though I hope you are), please let me know in a review. _


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi everyone! I hope you're having a fantastic summer, unless you live in the Southern Hemisphere, where I suppose it's winter, anyway, I hope it's been fantastic. I'm sorry I haven't updated in such a long time (since February). I honestly have no good excuse. Thank you so much for your patience. Special thanks to STARS-NEMISIS for reviewing and to my brother for helping me with some details of the last chapter. _

_Sorry, still not a ton of action; this may be a little anti-climactic after the events of the previous chapter. I had to reacquaint myself with the story a little before moving forwards. _

Percy took a deep breath and released his grip on the Pensieve. Slowly, he began the walk back to his office. He had to get back to his desk; that much was clear to him. His desk was safe, all straight lines, everything in its proper place. Quills, neat. Papers, filed. If he could just make it back to his desk everything else would make sense.

After what felt like far too long a trek down innumerable silent, marble floored corridors, Percy finally arrived at his office. He sat down behind his lovely, lovely desk, the thick stability of wood under his elbows grounding his racing mind.

He shuffled a few papers around, muttering semi-encouraging phrases to himself along the lines of "Percy Weasley, pull yourself together." Before long, pretending to be busy morphed into actually being busy, because really, Percy had a very important job to do and he couldn't let his personal problems affect his work ethic or productivity, and Percy was able to lose himself in the calming routine of paperwork and memos. He diligently filled in blank forms with careful ticks and initials, his mind becoming blank as the papers became filled out.

Percy gradually relaxed, surely there must be an explanation for what he's seen: Mr. Crouch had to firm with defendants. Just because his son was the accused shouldn't change anything, there could be no preferential treatment in a fair court system. Mr. Crouch was just trying to carry out justice to the best of his ability in difficult times. He should be applauded for his unbiased actions.

Percy buried himself once more in his papers, enough thinking about the past; there was work to be done. Mr. Crouch's personal affairs were really done of his business.

Just then, the man himself entered the office, flanked by the Polish ambassador and an assistant. Percy stood numbly and nodded his respects. Catching sight of Mr. Crouch's eyes, all his rationalizations of the past hour evaporated. They had not been the eyes of a man just endeavoring to do his duty; they had been so hard and cold. Mr. Crouch's voice echoed in Percy's head, as clear as if the memory he'd seen had been his own, "Take them away and may they rot there." Percy swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Once Crouch had passed through and closed the oak door between the outer office and his inner sanctum, Percy collapsed back into his seat.

As he did so, he heard something crunch quietly beneath him.

Percy shifted forward and delicately picked up the sound-producing object, a strip of paper, yellowed and crisp with age. He smoothed it gingerly and held the scrap close to his face to read. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

**Son Of Ranking Ministry Official Dies in Azkaban  
><strong>At press time, Crouch Sr. was unavailable for comment.

_Ok, I know it's short and not very good, but at least it finally got posted, right? Once again, sorry for the wait, I'll try to keep more on top of this from now on. Thanks for reading. _


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